


nightshade

by lacrimariums



Category: Twisted-Wonderland (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Toxic Relationships, Yandere, forced relationships - Freeform, listen i wont lie these are not a good time heed the tags ok, me making up my own beastfolk lore bc disney won't give it to me, no beta we die like the civilians lilia killed during The War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacrimariums/pseuds/lacrimariums
Summary: In the end, they're villains- they're not above falling to the twisted obsessions that come with their love.[collection of yandere twst fics from my tumblr]
Relationships: Leona Kingscholar/Reader, Malleus Draconia/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. selfish - malleus draconia

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: hey guys remember when i said i was going to give in and write noncon. well yeah i did it and the end product is fucked up as hell <3\. anyways this is in 3rd person and no gender specified also anatomy is kept vague
> 
> warnings: NSFW, noncon, general yandere themes, slight mindbreak, mentions of blood, mentions of violence. yknow how it be

It feels like he’s losing them.

It’s a terrifying concept to wrestle with, and it’s one he wishes he hadn’t noticed. But even though Malleus Draconia is known to be quite bad at reading others’ body language, even he cannot ignore how his beloved slowly withers like a plucked flower in his hands. He’d thought time would be his main enemy; that their human lifespan, so painfully short and fleeting, would be the first to try and take them from him. If it was that, he’d be able to fight it off: he’d never hesitate to reach into the darkest forms of magic, to sacrifice others to extend the lifespan of a single human he cared for. It would be ridiculous for anyone to try and challenge him to take his lover, but even then, he’d be able to smite them without remorse. In paper, nothing could ever take his lover from him. 

Except perhaps themselves, it seemed.

“My love, look. Lilia has brought these curious pastries from his travels.” the small paper bag in his hand is warm, lightly charmed to keep its contents safe. He doesn’t actually care much for sweet pastries like these, but he knows they love them. _They used to love them, at least._

As he stands in his room, Malleus Draconia seems less like a prince and more like a man in the brink of desperation. No amount of jewels and expensive decorations, of the black onyx decorations that are so traditional of his country, make the room look like a dignified prince’s room. The metal chain that attached to the sturdy rock wall and disappeared under the covers, where his lover laid, bound with fetters crafted of expensive, gleaming metal and lined with soft velvet on the inside so the material doesn’t chafe gave the place a sinister aura. There’s a pile of books neatly stacked: not the material he’d usually read, but rather a great variety ranging from romance novels to encyclopedias, all untouched and still in their packaging. On the table, there’s a number of boxes, some jigsaw puzzles and others board games, and similarly these are all untouched. The colourful flowers on intricate pots lined near the barred window are barely hanging on: he’s the only one who waters them, when he remembers.

And in the center of the room, in the grand canopy bed, lays his human. That’s where they usually are, lying on their side, covered by the duvet. Before, he used to resent the ‘clink clink’ of the chain when they moved around, wishing that he could get rid of the thing once and for all, that they’d just _cooperate_ and stop trying to escape. But now he desperately longs to hear it again; that would mean they got up. That they did something on their own, instead of just lying there as if waiting to waste away.

“… Did you not like the books I brought? I asked Silver to pick them, but I should have known he wouldn’t know what you’d like…” it’s not that he’s not used to the silence. In the fae court, his word is absolute. People rarely approach him, and when they do, it’s usually nervous officials or court members who seem to be anxious to tell him of urgent businesses and walk away as fast as they can once they’re done. Even back in Night Raven College, he was more than used to not having people direct a word at him aside from his retainers.

_But they did, his mind says. They spoke to him. They were so bright, so ignorant- so eager to approach him and befriend him without even knowing who he was. They weren’t afraid of him._

The memory is bitter in his tongue as he sits down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly. He misses the slight flinch to his darling’s shoulders when he does this: if he’d seen it, would he have been happy to see them show any sort of reaction, or would he have been disheartened to see yet another form of fear to him? Whatever the case, he just gazes at them. The version of them now is a hollow shell compared to who they were just a couple of years ago.

The first time they looked at him with fear was when they woke up in his room after he visited them at night, as he usually did. Those few who were close to him would say he was a bit dense when it came to emotions, but his darling had to be far worse. For them to not realize what a dangerous game they were playing, to feed the side of him that was starved of even the most basic kinds of affection: every time they greeted him with a smile, with that silly nickname they’d given him. Even worse when they touched him- quick hugs, their hands on his horns, the way they’d pat his head as if he was a child and not their senior. How could they expect him to not become intoxicated? To not spiral into obsession? Originally, he’d wanted to wait until graduation. But in the end it was too much: his draconic blood carrying hoarding and possessive instincts, the burning jealousy when he saw his beloved bumbling around with those fools from Heartslabyul, _even worse when other dorm leaders began to get close to them, when that wretched Leona would call them an idiot and yet sling his hand around their waist, when Vil would snatch them away to ‘give them a makeover’ and have them walk around smelling like his perfume-_ it all culminated in him putting them to sleep, and then locking them in his room.

Lilia had said it was normal. Sebek and Silver, those two didn’t know better: they simply followed as he said (even though Silver seemed hesitant, he never disobeyed, never made a move to steer Malleus from the dark path he’d taken). There was nobody to stop him from doing what he wanted, and so he did. Chains, restraints, wards and charms surrounding his room that didn’t let his darling escape and didn’t let anyone track them down. Even when they struggled and yelled at him, he was content. _They’d caused this, after all. Intoxicated his heart._ It wouldn’t be enough to scream or throw thorny words his way to undo the obsession they’d formed in his heart.

“Speak to me, child of man. I worry for you.” He frowned, stroking their hair. They weren’t asleep- in fact, they rarely slept, despite their human body needing it. It didn’t matter, since he’d curse them to sleep at night and wake them in the morning. Nowadays, it was something he did for the sake of their health (something he did because it made _him_ feel better, made him feel like he was doing his part in undoing some of the damage he’d caused), but it was a routine long since established. After all, back when he was still in NRC, he’d often charm them to sleep when he was off to classes and then awake them to keep him company. But now they just laid there, even when awake, glassy eyes staring at nothing. “I do not want to have to punish you, my love. But the way you’re acting is starting to trouble me.”

 _‘You did this to me’ ‘Do you think I want to be here?’ ‘Let me go and I’ll be better than ever’_ \- he’d heard these kinds of answers many times before, when he’d expressed concern over them. When he told them to stop messing with their fetters so much to avoid chafing, when they refused to eat, when they didn’t want him to heal their wounds after he lost his temper and hurt them. He was used to them not wanting to take his genuine concern over them; to them, what he did was unforgivable. No matter what, he never seemed to be able to make them see why all he did was necessary- _they’d have been taken away by a lowly worm back in NRC, they’d have returned to their world, and that couldn’t happen. He’d give them everything they needed, make them royalty, make it so they didn’t need to work a day of their life, extend their lifespan so death would never have to stare them down._ They were hardheaded, stubborn, and that was something he liked of them; but it meant they simply refused to see things his way. Before, they’d protest in escape attempts, in screams, in sobs. Now they protested in silence, in doing nothing: something had broken in them.

But to his surprise, they replied to him.

“Just kill me if you truly love me.” their voice was hoarse. The sound of their voice should have been music to his ears, to hear his lover finally speak after weeks of silence, but at their words, the temperature in the room dropped as Malleus’ pupils narrowed.

“… Do you truly think I would do that?” he sounded hurt. Angry, too, but _hurt._ “You humans are such fascinatingly stupid creatures. You live out your short lives, thinking to be the center of the universe; and then die, a meaningless, empty death after a meaningless existence. And yet here you’ve been given the chance to stand above that all, and you ask me to-”

“To kill me.” they should have been scared. They should have been shaking, trying to hide themselves: angering Malleus was a fool’s errand, something that had caused deaths before. The way the air thickened with magic, electricity crackling audibly should have made them flinch, the way Malleus’ green eyes seemed to glow should have made them try to avert their gaze. But they just laid there, and if anything, they perhaps looked more calm and alive than they had in the past week as they looked him in the eye and repeated themselves. “You say you love me. You took everything from me. You said you’d give me everything I wanted- so kill me. Kill me, or I’ll let myself die-”

“Be silent.”

He couldn’t say he’d never laid a hand on his lover before. Human tales of chivalry often said that a man should never raise a hand against his lover, but his love was far from that fairytale human fantasy of what romance should be. He loved them, but they were still a lowly human- escape attempts and tantrums were easy to punish with just the burn of electric magic, with the crushing pressure of magic unthinkable for a magicless being like them, a fraction of his power enough to reduce them to tears and make them beg for forgiveness and swear they’d never do that again. _Educating them,_ that was what he was doing; something akin to training a dog with a spiked collar to not pull on the leash. 

But he’d never done this, never hurt them without his magic. He barely even registered his own actions, the blood still rushing in his ears from the sheer anger of hearing those words leave his darling’s mouth: he blinks once, then twice. There’s an odd sound, and he quickly realizes it’s the sound of his darling choking, trying to breathe. His hand is pressed against their neck, black gloved fingers easily circling their throat- he can see how their arms twitch, and even though he’s no good at reading people, even he can tell they’re resisting the impulse to claw at his hand- they’re letting him do this. _He’s hurting them, but it’s the most reaction he’s gotten out of them in such a long time. They want him to kill them, but he won’t- he’ll force them to take back those words._

“You want me to kill you? I’ve been told humans are selfish creatures, and right now, I am inclined to believe those words to be true.” he’s glaring down at them. He’s sat on the bed, but as they lay down, he’s still above them. With a quick move, he’s nearly straddling them, face right in front of theirs as his hand still applies pressure to their neck, enough to be painful, to cut off air, but not quite so to knock them out, not to snap their neck. “You say I took everything from you. But I’ve given you a home, I’ve given you a royal title. I’ve given you power and influence, and it’s you who has refused to take them. Instead you choose to sit here, to sulk over the past all day- I’ve given you everything. You’re the one who’s refused to take it.”

He hates how they don’t struggle, how they seem to try to relax their body despite the fact his hand is wrapped around their throat. They’re not enjoying this- he can see how their muscles jump, how their pulse quickens as they repress their fight or flight instinct- and it only feeds into his anger. How far can he take it? _If they’re so intent on seeing him as the villain, then how far do they think he’ll go?_

They stiffen when his hand leaves their throat and grabs at their shirt. It’s a simple button up shirt, something meant to be worn to sleep; the fabric is soft, as expected of the expensive clothes he got for them. There’s so many outfits he’s gotten them- traditional fae clothes from the Valley of Thorns, clothes he thought would look good on him, royal garb- and yet all they seem to wear is their simple nightwear. Without hesitation, he rips the shirt open. His magical prowess might be what sets him apart from others, but dragons are also freakishly strong. The expensive fabric tears like paper, buttons snapping open and scattering around as he tosses the ruined shirt over his shoulder.

“Did I spoil you too much? Tell me, child of man. Have I been to soft on you, all this time? Should I play the part of the villain you want to see me as? I’m no stranger to being seen as evil. But I expected better from you.” their eyes widen at this, but Malleus doesn’t pause to gauge their reaction to his words. He’s too consumed in his own anger now, too far in his own head. “You want me to kill you? Who am I to heed to your requests, when you’ve done nothing but ignore and disobey mine?”

Finally there’s fear in their eyes. The realization that bringing forth Malleus’ anger might have been a bad move seems to settle in all at once, but it’s too late to struggle now. He’s never made them disrobe for punishment before- punishment is usually burns from that hellish green fire he controls so easily, or electricity burning their every nerve with a flick of his magic pen. But never _this-_ he’s never done this, never just ripped their clothes off, but the look in his eyes is terrifying. It’s terrifying in the way they can take a guess what he’ll do.

He’s never violated them. Hugs and kisses, he’s taken plenty without bothering to ask for permission. It shouldn’t be shocking: a powerful man fucked up enough to kidnap someone to keep as a lover against their will wouldn’t really have a notion of consent. He didn’t see the problem in keeping them chained up, of charming them to sleep so he could hold them at night like a pliant doll despite the fact he did not need to sleep. But he’d never done _more._ He’d electrocuted them, burnt them, but he’d never fucked them without their permission. _Sure,_ most of the times the ‘permission’ came in form of isolation driving them mad, of their human need for contact overriding their logic- sometimes even in hopes that if they gave him that intimacy, perhaps he’d let them have a taste of freedom. But there was always at least some agreement: it’d never been something he’d taken forcefully.

“I believe it’s time for me to do as you’ve been doing all this time.” his face is close, so close to theirs. His breath is hot- as if he’s barely holding back the fire that he can so easily spit from his mouth. The bag of pastries tumbles off the bed, long forgotten. He might have come in to try a gentle approach, but that’s no longer the goal. “I will simply do what I please without caring for what you feel.”

With those words, he swiftly pins their arms above their head with one hand as he lowers his mouth to theirs. _It’s just a kiss, it’s nothing new for him to force onto them,_ but the ferocity of it is terrifying. He doesn’t care they need to breathe, doesn’t care that his sharp fangs bite down on their lip and draw blood, doesn’t care that his long tongue is all but shoved down their throat. It’s all too much, and soon enough they’re trashing below him, trying to kick up against him but being unable due to his straddling position pining them down, the sound of the chain around their ankle jingling with their limited movement yet another stark reminder that even if they could throw him off, they couldn’t possibly flee. His free hand trails lower down their now naked torso, and they curse not having worn anything under their shirt- an undershirt, _anything_ to put a layer between him and them- but his gloved hand trails against their bare skin, and they can’t shake him off.

Finally he breaks the kiss. The way his darling pants for air, eyes screwed close, it’s the liveliest he’s seen them in a long time. There’s some tears forming in the corner of their eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the struggling or if because they know what he’s going to do to them. He doesn’t care, not for now. For now, he’s going to be selfish: he’s going to do exactly what he wants without caring for their feelings, just like how they’ve been selfish and ignored his efforts to make them happy all this time. With that thought, he lifts his hand from where it’d been circling one of their nipples, but gives no time for them to be relieved as he bites off his glove and swiftly returns his hand to pinch at the nub.

“N-no, I don’t-” their words are choked out when he pinches hard, leaning down to bite into their neck. The cry they let out is nothing short of pained; he’s bit down hard, drawing blood, and his hand shows no mercy. He’s not chasing their pleasure- if they get any satisfaction from those acts, it’s because they’ve been conditioned to find a shred of pleasure in pain and only because of that. His other hand, still in its thick black gloves, is squeezing their wrists hard enough they swear they can feel the bones creak, but those concerns are cut short when he bites down again.

“Silence.” his voice is full of authority, but there’s something else to it- _lust._ There’s a sickening feeling that blooms in their gut at this realization. This isn’t just something he’s doing to scare them, to punish them: he’s enjoying this. He’s getting off to this, to their struggling and their desperation- _it shouldn’t be surprising, but it still is. Perhaps they truly were too spoiled, to find themselves shocked their captor and forced lover can get off to taking advantage of them like this._ “I’ve told you, have I not? That you drive me crazy, that you’re all my heart desires. It’s your fault I became like this, so you have no right to complain when I do this.”

Seemingly done with his empty justifications, he dives back in before they can speak up. His mouth busies itself with biting and sucking at their skin, dark marks and blood marring their skin as he does so. His kind of fae doesn’t need blood for sustenance, doesn’t even find it to be delicious like other types of fae do- he’s biting down to cause pain, to make them writhe. Or perhaps he’s so obsessed that just knowing he’s consuming the blood of the object of his affections is enough to spur him on to bite down again and again. Either possibility just makes them sick, letting pain, regret and shame letting hot tears run freely down their face.

He’d always thought that he wanted things to become normal. For them to accept their fate, to become a doting partner, to take their title when he inherited the crown- no need for chains and guards at the door, no need for him to be watching over them as they’d stick to his side out of their own will. But as they cry beneath him, as they struggle and squirm, flinch when his hand dips beneath the waistband of their pants, he isn’t so sure anymore. It’s as if taking this forcefully just feeds into the draconic instinct in him to conquer, feeds into all those dark fantasies he’s held onto since he first realized he loved them. He’d never violated them, as if perhaps he could cling onto that last moral standing. But now that’s out the window- they’re his, they’re his to do what he wants with. If they don’t want to become a normal lover for him, then he won’t treat them how a normal lover does.

“You’re crying, and yet I can tell you’re worked up over this. Is this what you wanted all along? For me to pin you down and have my wicked way with you? Is this why you never responded to my affections- because I was nice, patient with you?” his hand settles between their legs. Their arousal is just a biological response, and part of him knows it; but the way their cheeks glow red with humiliation as tears roll down their face as they shake their head, trying to deny his filthy words just make his blood thrum with excitement. “You can’t deny it, not when you’re like this. I truly was too nice to you. Who would have known you were actually just meant to be tossed around and used like this?”

 _Stop, no, stop, please,_ the words all melt into a broken off babble when his hand begins to move between their legs. With how he moves, stimulating their arousal, it’s just natural that their body reacts, and yet they feel filthy and gross with each moan they can’t hold back. The pleasure is a normal reaction, but it doesn’t help the shame that eats away at them. They’re being violated by their captor right now, and even if they don’t want it to, it feels good- it’s humiliating, it’s sickening, and they can’t even stop him.

He’s breathing heavily. He’s been the one touching them, but Malleus is very clearly affected by the sight of his darling struggling against him, crying and hiccuping as they try to choke back moans. It’s not the first time he has sex with them, but it’s very different this time: their struggle is genuine, they’re truly _trying_ to get away and they’re failing misserably, and it inflates his ego and fuels his arousal more than ever. They can’t stop him. He’s the one in charge in all senses; and in this scenario, he feels more powerful than when he sits in his seat at the court. It’s too much, and to relieve some of the overwhelming warmth, he retrieves the hand that had been teasing his lover to undo his dress shirt. He doesn’t let go off their wrists, even if he knows there’s not much they could do: he doesn’t want them to get even a glimmer of hope of escape.

He undoes his shirt with some effort, in the end tearing it off as he did with theirs and tossing it aside. Like that, shirtless, breathing heavy, with lust-addled eyes, he’d usually look like a masterpiece: the way his dark hair slightly stuck to his forehead with sweat, how his horns reflected the green light of the chandelier nearby, how his strong, unmarred torso moved with each deep breath. It would be a blessed sight to any of the desperate noblewomen and certain noblemen who wanted nothing more than to get on the prince’s good side, to seduce him to bed in hopes of getting higher in the social ladder. But to the human beneath him, it’s terrifying how fast he’s going. It’s fucking gross to think they’d rather be masturbated against their will, but the only other option is that he keeps going, that he _goes further._ He’s going too slow and too fast all at once; they want it to _end, to be over, to close their eyes and open them again and for him to be gone,_ but that’s not an option. Maybe it’s a blessing that he isn’t stirring the foreplay on for longer.

“Suck.” he gives a curt instruction before shoving three of his fingers into their mouth. The fact that said hand had been between their legs not long ago is nauseating, but the mere thought of what he might do if they bite down is enough to make their jaw go slack in fear. Still, they don’t just obediently lick his fingers; they feel gross enough as is, ashamed and disgusted. Without much care, he thrusts his fingers into their mouth. He shouldn’t be getting any pleasure from such a thing: the fact he’s doing it so roughly just goes to show how much he revels in their discomfort. Every place he’s touched them feels like it’s boiling hot, and they want nothing more than to scrub away at the skin, as if that could wash away his touch; but right now they’re forced to try and fight back their gag reflex as he shoves his fingers down their throat.

Malleus doesn’t seem grossed out when he removes his fingers to find them slick with spit. His darling coughs, shaken from the sudden intrusion to their mouth, but without giving them a chance he once again snakes his hand down their pants. A choked ‘no’ leaves their mouth when his spit-slick finger presses into their entrance, but there’s nothing else they can say before he’s brutally fucking them on his fingers. It’s too fast all at once; they’re not relaxed, _they can’t be in this state,_ and a natural biological response can only go so far against the fear and anguish that make their body clam up: when he shoves a second finger in, it’s painful. He’s trying to prepare them, but with how tense they are, it’s just not going to work.

 _And he won’t care,_ they realize with horror. If he’s going so far, he’s clearly not going to stop just because they aren’t prepared enough for his cock- the horrifying thought of it makes them try to relax their muscles, to lessen the pain on themselves. Part of them feels like they’re giving in to him, that they’re giving up, while the more logical side of their brain screams that if they don’t at least try to relax their entrance before he shoves himself up there the pain they’ll be in will be far worse than any shame they can feel.

Of course, trying to relax in such situation isn’t anything easy. Three fingers go in and out, accompanied by Malleus’ panting as he once again alternates between kissing his darling and leaving harsh lovebites on their neck and chest. The spit on his fingers may be helping things along slightly, but it’s still not ideal: there’s some pain from the stretch of his fingers, but of course that’s not enough to stop him.

“Why are you suddenly so shy, my love? It’s not the first time we’ve joined together like this.” he speaks, his voice low. Malleus is usually not one for jokes, but here, his tone is clearly mocking. _He knows_ what’s going on, knows damn well that he’s forcing himself onto them. His hand leaves their pants once more, tugging them down until they’re low enough to expose his darling’s entrance, and then he gets to undoing his pants with one hand. He undoes the zipper, and instead of taking off pants and underwear, chooses to simply take out his erection. 

When they’ve had sex with him before, his size had intimidated them. Malleus is a tall man, and his cock is proportional- _hell, even larger than what one would expect for a man his size._ All the other times he’s fucked them, they’d at least been along for the ride- and even then, with them actually turned on and willing, with a lot of preparation, it’d still hurt slightly. Now he’s barely bothered to prepare them, and their body doesn’t want anything to do with what’s about to happen; they wonder if the pain will make them pass out.

It doesn’t.

The scream that rips from their throat is bloodcurling. Malleus shoves himself in all at once, the copious precum that had smeared on his dick doing very little as makeshift lubrication. It’s like they’re being split in two; white hot searing pain, a feeling so horrible for a second their body feels like it’s ceased to exist in the bed they’re pinned to and is just an amorphous concentration of pain and hurt. They can’t see, eyes screwed shut in pain, but the feeling of something warm running down their thigh while Malleus is still very much rock hard and starting to thrust into them tells them that they’ve bled.

“You’re- you’re tighter than ever, _fuck,”_ he doesn’t speak in his usual wordy way, too overwhelmed by the sensation of his darling’s walls enveloping his dick. Not having touched himself all this time, he’s specially sensitive, and as his brain becomes overrun by lust and a desire to go deeper, go faster, he lets go off his darling’s wrists so he can pin their legs to their shoulders with both hands.

It’s not like they can run away, anyways. The sheer pain of the stretch and sudden abuse to their entrance and insides is intense enough they can barely breathe. Their initial scream leads to silence, but their mouth is wide open: they want to scream, but it’s all so much they can’t even gather the strength to do so. Malleus grunts above them, thrusting at an animalistic speed that makes the bed rock against the stone wall.

It’s decidedly a curse that his stamina is superhuman. If he’d just cum and finish, just laid down to hold them as they tried to process all that just happened, that’d be fine- that’d be the best possible ending, for it to end quickly. But he just keeps going, and even though the pain doesn’t subside, it does give way to a raw sort of pleasure. If they were coherent, they’d be incredibly ashamed of themselves to moan and accept the pleasure his cock ramming into them gives them against their will; but their mind is too scrambled, the pain and pleasure so intense that there’s no room for any other thoughts.

He isn’t chasing their pleasure, but he still notices how their body begins to tense up as he fucks into them. There’s no attempt on their part to keep quiet now, brain turned to slush by the overwhelming _everything,_ and as their moans and incoherent babbles grow louder, he can tell they’re close. Their hands wrap around his back- something he’ll be keen to remind them of tomorrow, of how they held onto him even while he fucked them against their will- and with a loud, warbled cry, they come. Malleus grunts, and as they tighten around him, he orgasms as well. Perhaps he could have lasted longer, if this were just regular sex- but the power rush he got from the fact that he just _took_ without even caring for what they wanted was enough to drive him over the edge.

He pulls out, uncaring of the come that slips out of his darling’s abused hole. There’s blood there in the mix: tomorrow, he’ll have to assess how badly he hurt them, and heal them up. But there’s no regrets in his mind: _he did what he wanted to do without thinking of their feelings, just like how they’d been hurting him all this time._ He doesn’t need sleep, but humans are fragile, and after such an experience, his darling is knocked out without need for his usual spell. He holds them against his chest, smiling. Hopefully by tomorrow, they would understand the lesson, and they’d stop being so rebellious.

And if not, then he had no problem doing this all over once again. If they want to play the part of an unresponsive doll once again, then he’ll treat them just like that, like a doll for him to play with. _They’re his no matter what; he won’t let them escape into their own mind, not when he can forcefully reach in and pull them back into the reality he’d shaped for them._


	2. housecat - leona kingscholar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> leona hates it, how careless she is. doesn’t she know that she’s a small little cat in a den of predators? her, the only girl in an all boys school, always so cordial and friendly to everyone… it’s as if she believes nobody would take advantage of her, as if she thinks there’s nobody who’d earn her trust just to shatter it: she’s not wary enough of people like him, so can he be blamed for doing just that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: ahaha leona with catgirl darling…. finally the promised fic is done. rejoice. also i mention declawing here a couple times this is a psa to dont declaw your kitties thank you <3
> 
> warnings: general yandere themes, mentions of blood, non consensual drug use, referenced noncon. she/her pronouns used for darling, but anatomy is kept vague

A domesticated cat is nothing to a lion.

That’s what he told himself, at first. Whilst all of NRC seemed to go nuts over the news of a new transfer student- a female one, at that- Leona didn’t care. He had better things to do, and he wasn’t so immature as to go insane over a girl coming to an all boys school. Hell, even when it was revealed the transfer student was a beastfolk, and not just that, but one of those _rare_ domestic breed beastfolk that had features of domestic animals rather than wild ones, he didn’t care. Leona wasn’t interested in getting into the politics and discourse of the differences between beastfolk with wild animal genes and those with domestic animal features. He just wanted to _rest,_ to finish this goddamn year of school so he’s closer to graduating and not having to bother with school ever again.

That was at first. But life has a funny way of getting in the way of one’s plans. She wasn’t put in Savanaclaw, and yet he found himself being forced to interact with her when she was placed in the same class as him. It was easy for teachers to pair him up with her, perhaps in a misguided effort to make her comfortable: in their eyes, there wasn’t much of a difference between a leon beastman and her with her domestic cat features. It was a foolish attempt, of course: Leona wasn’t too bothered with making her feel welcome, nor did he hesitate to pile the work onto her if he could.

There was nothing similar between him and her. Her ears were much larger than his, much more pointed and fluffy- the fur not a sandy colour like his, but rather a mixture of orange, white and black splotches in a calico pattern. He’d known that his ears sometimes showed his emotions, as most beastfolk’s ears did, but with her, it felt almost… Exaggerated. How her ears would twitch at every little thing, how they’d flatten into her hair when she was upset or didn’t know an answer, it was far too resembling an overly excited housecat. Her tail was shorter than his, with longer fur all over it, also in a calico pattern. Leona had long since learnt that people tried to judge his mood by the way his tail moved, but with her, it was just so… Exaggerated, the way she moved her tail so lively and without a thought. If she were a predator, she’d be spotted by her prey with ease with how much she moved and expressed herself, but it made sense she’d be so bad at it. She wasn’t a wild animal. She was a domestic cat. There was nothing similar between Leona and her, and yet he found himself intrigued despite not wanting to be.

At first he assumed he was just annoyed by her. He’d never liked the ‘goody two shoes’ type, and she sure fit into that label, with how she was always trying to be on everyone’s good side. Part of him understood that being thrown into an all boys school known for having twisted students probably had her on edge and not wanting to get on anyone’s bad side, but at the same time, it was so _irking_ to watch her greet everyone with that little smile, her tail swishing behind her, to watch her apologize so profusely whenever she bumped into anyone, or how she was always more than happy to pick up any pen or pencil that fell in class. Having grown up around beastfolk, he really shouldn’t be affected by her animal features, and yet he found himself frowning whenever she went up to him to ask about his progress on a project or assignment, how her ears would flatten slightly and her tail move from side to side in nervousness. 

But it wasn’t just that. Ruggie was the first to break it to him that his ‘annoyance’ to the transfer student was something more than that- the hyena’s words still echoed in his mind. _“Nishishi, you’re still frowning… Are you so annoyed to see the housecat hanging out with Vil? Does Leona have a little crush? Nishishi.”_ In the moment he’d heard those things, he’d grumbled for Ruggie to quit being stupid; but despite his moody exterior, Leona wasn’t one to lie to himself. A crush… It sounded so childish, so stupid; and yet… The fact that he got into a foul mood when she helped others, or when he saw her hang around with other dorm leaders with that stupid smile on her face and her tail swishing lazily, the way she plagued his dreams; he wasn’t stupid. 

It could’ve ended there. Maybe he could have just ignored his little crush until it went away, wait out the rest of the school year until she returned to her school to do her fourth year. Hell, he could have confessed- but he didn’t. It wasn’t quite fear of rejection that kept him from doing so; he just couldn’t picture himself doing so. He was many things- a shady bastard, a dirty player, and so many other things that students whispered in the halls- but romantic wasn’t one of them. It was enough to just see her during class anyways, for the occasional group projects where she’d work with him. Until it wasn’t.

“Leona? Do you have an eraser I could borrow? I didn’t bring mine…” her voice snaps him back to reality. 

Blinking his eyes a couple of times, he realizes he’s been spacing off. He’d asked her to come over to his room to finish some history homework that was assigned in couples, and of course, he’d ended up assigned with her (because that damn Trein knew that she’d pester him to complete the work). She’s sitting at his desk, staring at him with her head slightly tilted, surely wondering why he wasn’t answering to her questions, but his eyes are drawn to the way her skirt moves with every gentle swish of her tail as she sits on the desk chair. Having taken off the blazer, she’s left in just the white button up and the black skirt she wears with her uniform- along with the thigh high black socks and mary jane shoes she always wears. 

“It should be somewhere on the desk.” he grumbles back, making himself comfortable in the bed again. He doesn’t feel any shame in letting her work while he relaxes in bed- when it’s time for him to do his part, she’ll start to nag him to start working. She hums in response and begins to look for the eraser, once again absorbed in her work.

It’s almost cute, how hard she works. Leona just lays in bed as he quite literally oggles her; she never notices, too busy working. That’s another one of the things that he finds so infinitely annoying about her, how _vulnerable_ she is. 

Domestic beastfolk are just weak. There’s no room to debate that. Most beastfolk carry features of wild beasts, adapted to survive in harsh environments. They descend from beasts that evolved to survive, to fight- and so it’s no wonder most beastfolk are way hardier than humans. But domestic animals aren’t found in the wild; most domestic breeds were brought by due to human intervention, bred in captivity until they lost their ability to survive without the help of others. And in a similar vein, domestic beastfolk were just so much weaker than their wild counterparts. The difference between one of them that took after a wild bovine and one that resembled a domesticated dairy cow is night and day, in terms of strength and the mere fact domestic beastfolk often needed to tend to themselves in the ways humans must tend for their animals. Domestic sheep beastfolk need to constantly shear their tails and cut their hair lest they overheat during summer unlike their wild counterparts that simply shed it, male domestic pig beastfolk often need to shave down their tusks to avoid hurting themselves while wild boar beastfolk can let them grow with no worry. And it becomes even worse for animals domesticated to be _pets-_ the beastfolk carrying these features often succumb to their natural instinct to obey authority, tend to be much weaker and meek than others.

Leona’s seen first hand just how different she is than all other beastfolk he’s met; with how the domesticated genes in her make her so overwhelmingly friendly, how she’s eager to let others pet her head and scratch her ears because that’s something she’s hardwired to enjoy. He’s heard her purr, a quiet and rumbly noise, when others go up and pet her ears- and it fills him with rage she just _lets them._ But it’s not just that; it’s not just her natural instincts, it’s just how she _is._ How when she concentrates she forgets the world around her, how she trusts anyone who’s nice to her; it’d be so easy for anyone with bad intentions to get close to her, to take advantage of her…

_Someone like him._

He’s not delusional. From realizing he had a crush to where he is, Leona’s quite aware his emotions spiraled in a worryingly fast speed, but who is he to stop them? It was all too easy to let his jealousy and possessiveness grow unchecked once he accepted he was attracted to the exchange student. For his daydreams to go from holding them innocently in his arms to pinning them naked to his bed, to making them cry and writhe. He’s aware it’s fucked up- _he’s fucked up-_ but who’s going to stop him? For once, he desires something (he desires her, wants her, _needs her)_ and there’s nothing stopping him from getting it. She’s right there, ripe for picking, no close friends or family to whisk her away, no status that can fight against his as a royal. He’s not even sure if it’s something he can call love: the way he wants her to depend on him, but also relishes in the thought of hurting her, of being the cause for her tears; he wants to overpower her, to make her submit _because_ he’s the stronger one.

“Are you sure there’s an eraser around here…? I don’t see one….” she keeps looking at the desk, looking into the empty pen holders. To be fair, he was pretty sure there was an eraser somewhere there; he’s never been one to collect stationery or pens, and he doesn’t really keep track of if he’s lost some, so it’s entirely possible the eraser is somewhere in a drawer or in the depths of his schoolbag. Still, there’s a slight frustration to her tone, and he can see her tail swish around as she darts her eyes all over the desk trying to find the damn thing, and it does nothing but feed fuel into the dark fire burning in him.

“Tch. Let me see.” The bed is comfortable and he hates to stand up, but he knows an opening when he sees one. Like a lion stalking his prey, he’s held back attacking for a long time. Hell, if he’d wanted to, he could have pounced and taken her the second he began to feel anything for her; he could have gotten rid of all competition and made her his the very second he so wanted, could have snatched her away from those annoying students that always tried to force her to spend time with them, but he’d waited. Waited for the ideal moment, letting his obsession stew and grow until it was about to boil over. _If he waited any longer, he might get careless._ But this is the perfect moment; nobody’s around to see or hear, the door is locked, and she’s in _his_ territory.

“… Did you check the pencil case?” Leona easily frames her, standing behind the chair where she sits. Planting both hands in the desk, he’s quite literally encasing her; if she were any other student, she’d be terrified of the action. But she isn’t, because from what he’s seen she lacks a sense of danger or awareness of how vulnerable she is at NRC. With a hum, she opens the pencil case and rummages through it to no avail.

“Not here… Are you sure you even have one? I think I got one in my bookbag, it’s by the foot of your bed. Riddle gave it to me, it’s scented like roses-” he lets her stand up, but she doesn’t get too far before he places a hand on her shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“Riddle gave you… an eraser?” his tone isn’t curious as much as it’s jaded. If she notices the anger or jealousy in his voice, she doesn’t show it: her placid smile doesn’t fade. With a happy nod and a twitch of the ears, she smiles. 

“Yup! Oh, I also have a pen that Azul gave me as thanks for helping around the lounge, and Kalim says he wants to give me something, but I’m kinda worried he might spend too much money-” 

It’s a quick action, the one he does to bring her from where she stands close to the bed to pin her down. Leona’s speed is nearly unmatched, and his physical strength is no joke: he’s been in his fair share of fights, and his opponents rarely have a chance to dodge when he strikes first. Perhaps that’s why his eyes widen when she reacts lightning quick, her pupils shrinking into thin slits as she immediately moves her hands to grip at his arm. Her reflexes are surprising, but a quick response is still no match to his brute strength: in a flash, she’s pinned down to the bed, knees bent and feet still on the floor but back pressed firmly into the mattress as Leona looms over her, pinning her by the shoulders.

“You’re a spoiled little housecat, aren’t you? Going around and begging everyone for attention- you don’t care who it is that’s with you as long as they give you attention and affection, huh?” Leona sneers, putting aside his shock at her response. The way her ears flatten into her head and her tail stands stiff in alert are all well expected from his sudden action, but he’d never pegged her as someone capable of a quick response to an attacker, not with how laissez faire and naive she seemed. Still, there’s no time for him to dwell on that: finally, she’s below him, in his grasp. Under his control.

“Leona, what are you doing-?!” her voice is still sweet, even when filled with fear. What’s not as sweet is the way her nails dig into his arms in a futile attempt to make him let go: his eyes narrow as he notices blood beginning to seep from where her sharpened claws dig into him. With a grunt, he swats her hands away and quickly grabs her by the wrists, pinning her down once again in a much more vulnerable position. The pained yelp that escapes her mouth is very much like a cat’s yowl, and he laughs.

“What am I doing, you ask? Don’t you think it’s about time something like _this_ happened to you, idiot?” he lowers his face to be closer to her, green eyes glowering at her. Slit pupils stare into slit pupils, and the way his own sharpened fingernails threaten to dig into her skin are a reminder of how in all senses, his body isn’t _that_ much different than hers, and yet he’s just exponentially stronger than she could ever be. “You come into an all male school, walk around and talk to everyone like there’s nothing to be worried about… Did you never hear the kind of people that come here to NRC? Do you really think a school so full of rotten people would take you in so kindly?”

“Nobody- nobody would hurt me, you’re being weird!” she squirms, desperately trying to get him off. Her face shows plain panic, but the betrayal hasn’t quite hit yet: it’s very likely she’s trying to tell herself Leona is just trying to scare her, that this is just a lesson because he dislikes her being so careless. “If this is a joke, then I don’t like it! Let me go, I’m scared!”

“A joke…? Why would this be a joke? I’ve never been concerned with your entertainment.” Leona’s words are a hiss in her ear, and she winces at his hot breath. It’s common for people to panic under Leona’s touch, word of how his unique magic can easily render a live person to sand in seconds being well spread through the school- but there’s something so refreshing about knowing she isn’t scared of him killing her, that she fears something _else_ that sends a wave of adrenaline through his body. “Do you think if some random student decided to drag you out of a hall and pin you down in some empty classroom, that he’d stop because you asked nicely? I’m sure that’s been close to happening multiple times. I can assure you a good handful of the people here have fantasized about it, of leashing you like the pet you are.”

With those words, he takes one hand away from her wrists. There’s a glimpse of hope in her eyes in that second, that perhaps she’d be able to free herself in that instance: it disappears when he tightens the hand still there, tight enough to make the bones creak. Her next idea is to kick him: her legs are unbound, and even though it’s rather awkward to kick up with her knees already bent over the edge of the bed, she makes a valiant effort. An effort which is met with an annoyed growl from above. She’s keen, her reflexes well-honed, but there’s very little she can do to stop him from quite literally picking her up and tossing her to the center of the bed.

“S-stop this! I don’t- I don’t like you like that, stop it!” Finally, realization sinks into her. This isn’t a threat or a warning, this isn’t Leona joking around. Her expression is finally fitting for someone who’s been betrayed by someone they trust: tears begin to gather in the corner of her eyes. Her pupils, which had been slit before in a state of alert, now widen dramatically in fear. He knows quite well how feline eyes work, knows his do the same thing, but at the moment, he can’t help but be captivated by the way her dark pupils seem to nearly engulf her whole iris. 

The words don’t hurt, not really. She doesn’t want him- clearly, that wasn’t of his concern, not the second he decided he’d keep her for himself, that he’d make her into the pet she acted so much like. He’s used to not being people’s first choice, used to not being a choice at all. If anything, it makes it all so much more entertaining in a sense: it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t want him, _she will be his._ It’s out of her hands entirely- it’s all under his control.

“And you think I care?” he growls, his free hand trailing down her face. The feeling of his clawed fingertip against her skin makes her freeze, the pressure not enough to break skin but the threat behind it clear enough that he will, if she provokes him to do so. “You should’ve known better than to come here. What, did that old crow tell you you’d be safe? That everyone would help you out here? Surely you aren’t actually as dumb as an actual housecat, are you?”

“I- why are you doing this?” her teary response doesn’t really mean a lot to him. His hand moves to her head, and he scratches at the base of her ears; he knows damn well how good that feels. He’s never liked it when people pet him like that, it makes him feel like he’s being looked down on. But she _is_ a housecat, and very much like one, he can see her visibly relax under his touch, even though the panic in her eyes doesn’t diminish. It’s a biological response and he knows it, but it doesn’t make him any less smug.

“Look at that. Pinned down and assaulted, and still all it takes to make you happy again is to pet you. You’re really meant to be a fucking pet, aren’t you? Why bother playing around as if you’re going to graduate and work, when in reality you’re very clearly just meant to be a housecat?” if he weren't’ in such a dark mood, maybe he could be nicer. He could promise her a good future, tell her she’d never need to work another day. It’s all true, of course: he isn’t so irresponsible as to get a pet he doesn’t plan on taking care of, in a sense. But right now he doesn’t feel like making her happy, doesn’t feel like trying to calm her down: he wants her to panic, to suffer. A fair exchange for all the months he spent quietly suppressing his possessiveness and jealousy.

“Stop that! I’m not- don’t call me a pet!” perhaps in a last straw attempt, or just truly angered by his comment, she struggles against him once again. It’s not that odd she’d be enraged: domestic beastfolk face their fair share of difficulties regular beastfolk don’t, and being called a pet or a domestic animal is quite common. But he can’t be blamed for speaking the truth; as far as he’s concerned, she’d never get too far in life. If it wasn’t him, then it’d be someone else who’d earn her trust then take advantage of her, of the fact that by nature she’d find herself submitting to someone else. As if to illustrate his point, the hand on her head once again strokes her ears, a shockingly tender action for the situation; and Leona’s eyes widen when he hears purring.

“… Are you purring?” it’s a rhetorical question: she very clearly is. The noise is loud enough for him to hear, and it’s as if her whole body is softly vibrating with it. Vaguely, he recalls reading that regular cats can purr when distressed, not just when happy; but whatever the case is, she looks mortified. “Look at you. Tossed into a bed, pinned down against your will, being pet, and _this_ is how your body responds. You can’t try to deny that you’re made for this.”

“This is- it’s not right, stop this, you don’t actually want to do this-” tears are spilling freely from her face now, her struggling weak but persistent. It’s clear she’s not getting him off: her weak struggling is, if anything, just to show herself she hasn’t entirely given up. At her words, Leona laughs; and the next thing she knows, his mouth is at her neck, and he bites down _hard._ The scream that rips from her throat is muffled by his hand, which he’s quick to press into her mouth.

He draws blood. Leona’s never been one for blood; he likes meat like any other carnivorous beastman, but he’s never been too particular about blood- he’s not one of those freaky vampiric fae that feast on the substance. But just the knowledge this comes from her, that the warm blood that seeps from the bite and into his mouth is _hers,_ that’s enough to make him lick his lips and then the wound. Even with his hand covering her mouth, her whimpers and cries are audible to his sensitive ears. _She’s still purring, unable to stop herself,_ and the thought of how ashamed she must be of her body still producing the noise makes him smirk.

“I don’t want to do this? Who do you think you are to decide that?” she screws her eyes shut when he lifts his head up. There’s a slight tinge of red to his lips, and it’s no doubt the blood from the bite: tomorrow, it’ll be a purplish and horrible bruise, judging by how he suckled on the skin. She doesn’t see how he brings his free hand to his back pocket, but she hears the crinkle of plastic- the sound of a pill unwrapping. “You’ve been here for some months. Do you really think that’s enough to know someone? Did you think I was actually a kind person? That I acted the way I did just for fun, that I wouldn’t hurt someone if I had to?”

Getting the pill out of its wrapping is a bit of a hassle with just one hand, but he’d rather not let her arms free. It’s not as if he can’t pin her down again, but even for a housecat, her nails are sharp: the stinging on his forearms and the blood that’s already drying on them is proof enough. Perhaps he’ll trim her nails later; _declaw her even, if it’s needed._ But for now, the best option is to keep her restrained. The pill comes out of its wrapper eventually: a small, scentless blue little thing that by all means looks harmless. 

He presses his lips into hers. By the way she freezes beneath him, he guesses perhaps it’s the first time she’s been kissed on the lips; or maybe she’s just shocked that he kissed her before ripping her clothes off or something. Still, whatever she’s feeling is secondary to the absolute bliss that runs through his body at the contact, as his tongue goes into her mouth in the moment where she’s too shocked to fight back.

He’s not a romantic, not really, but _great seven has he dreamed about this._ Holding her, pining her down, biting her- those had all felt amazing, too, but a kiss… That’s what he’d started to fantasize about; back then when he thought his crush was just that and not a horrible spiraling obsession to own her. Back then when he was content grumbling about projects and homework by her side, back then when he thought he wanted her happiness and not to make her writhe beneath him- ever since then, he’d been dreaming of pressing his lips into hers. It’s such a basic thing, such a hopelessly romantic way of thinking that it almost grosses him out: there’s nothing pure or innocent about the way he’s pinning her down, how his hips are almost grinding into her, the way she’s very clearly struggling to be let go, to breathe.

In her desperate fit, she almost doesn’t notice the pill slip from his mouth and into hers. She swallows it, partly in instinct and partly in her struggle to take a breath; but when she notices she did so, there’s an audible cry that’s muffled by Leona’s mouth on hers. Leona almost wonders if he’s finally tired her out when he feels a sharp pain in his mouth- _she bit him._ The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth and hers; of course she’d have sharp fangs. He breaks off the kiss, bringing his hand to wipe at his mouth and grimacing at the blood. It hurts, of course- but at the same time, it’s not too bad. Had any other beastfolk bitten such a vulnerable part of his body, he’d surely be injured for a good time to come: but she’s not a beast, she’s a cat, a little domesticated animal. Her bites, her scratches; they might hurt, but they won’t last. She’s not built to fight.

“What did you give me?! Leona-?!” her voice is slightly hoarse, probably from dry swallowing a pill. It wasn’t that big, but seeing how shaken and panicked she was, it wouldn’t be odd if she’d struggled with it. Wiping off some more blood off his mouth and then wiping his hand on the sheets (he’d have to remember to ask Ruggie to clean them later), Leona huffed.

“For a domestic cat, you sure bite and scratch a lot. Are you trying to get declawed?” she shrunk at his words. Declawing a cat beastfolk was painful- and much like with actual domestic cats, would leave them vulnerable and prone to pain in their fingers- but it wasn’t _unheard of._ Really, he’d rather just train her to not attack him, but he’d also never miss a chance to remind her of how much power he had over her now. “Calm down. You’re going to be feeling really sleepy in a few seconds now.”

“You-!” she’d thought her eyes were dry by now, but at his words, a fresh set of tears spilled down her soaked cheeks. Leona, hovering above her; smug grin plastered on his bloodied lips (both _her blood and his,_ as the bite to her neck still pulsated with pain and the taste of his blood from when she’d bit down on his tongue still lingering reminded her), his eyes reflecting nothing, dark pools of green that showed nothing but malice. 

_Of course she’d known it wouldn’t be easy to be the only girl at an all boys’ school;_ hell, she’d been hesitant to come. NRC had a reputation, but it was also one of the best magic schools: this exchange program could open so many doors for her, the risk was worth it. She’d tried to carry it all in stride, ignore how much attention she’d get from being a girl, from being a cat beastwoman. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, the ‘pet’ or ‘domestic girlfriend’ comments from humans or other beastfolk. She’d known that there’d be a risk of running into assholes, into people who’d probably try to trick her into bed or something. But this- she’d never prepared for _this._ Not to be betrayed by someone she’d grown to know, by the man she’d spent so much time with and he’d never done anything, never shown signs he’d do anything until now-

The medicine works quickly. It’s easy to tell: first her eyes go cloudy, then her eyelids begin to droop. She’s fighting it; Leona can tell, by the way her thrashing becomes sloppier and weaker, by the way her purring- which had been somewhat consistent until now, in her state of panic and alert- begins to die down. Her ears, which had been flattened against her hair, relax somewhat and return to their natural position, and he can feel her tail gently swishing by his legs as sleep begins to claim her and shut down her panic responses, forcing her body into a state of relaxation.

It’s oddly silent when the medicine finishes its work. Sam hadn’t asked _why_ he needed such potent and fast acting sleeping meds, but the man had sold them to him anyways. Leona doubted the shop owner would rat him out if anyone asked; Sam had far shadier deals going on behind his back, but if push came to shove, he wouldn’t be _too_ hard to get rid of. The shop owner had told him the medicine would act quickly and effectively, but seeing the girl beneath him fast asleep despite having been crying and struggling just some minutes before is almost unbelievable.

Once he’s sure she’s fast asleep and not going to wake up, he lets go of her wrists. There’s a red mark from his grip, and early signs of bruising are already making themselves known: but that’s not a problem. She’s not going to have to explain herself to anyone- because as far as Leona is concerned, she’s going to be staying in his room. He should go and get the chains and rope he’d prepared for this, to secure her and make sure she can’t get away- but before he does that, he lets himself have one more treat. Leaning down, his mouth teases and probes at the bite wound on her neck, and she shifts and whines in her sleep, ears twitching, but doesn’t wake up. It’s a bit too addicting, to nibble and suckle on her already wounded skin; once he’s satisfied with the patchwork of bloody bruises and hickeys he’s left on her, he stands up to get things done.

When she awakens, she’ll find herself chained to the wall; heavy iron chains that a weak cat like her can’t break, not without the aid of her magic pen, which Leona has taken the freedom of taking from her bookbag and turning it to sand, along with her cellphone. She’ll also find herself unable to speak. Leona doesn’t pay much attention to school, but it’s well known he excels at ancient curses; and it wasn’t terribly hard to replicate a silencing curse for her. Most important of all, she’ll find herself collared. A thick, black leather collar around her neck- the same collar by which the chain holding her down is attached, the same collar in which he’s placed the curse. 

A domesticated cat should be nothing to a lion- but as things are, Leona’s more than eager to see how she’ll react when she realizes she’s destined to be his beloved pet.


End file.
